


Apocalypse on Pointe

by vanfeefee19



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Human Names Used, M/M, Necrophilia, Zombie, does this make Alfred a necrophiliac, gay zombie, i don't care, i promise all the chapters aren't 500 words, just in case, most of this is based off a really old roleplay, specifically the crack relationship between Mexico and Poland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanfeefee19/pseuds/vanfeefee19
Summary: Ivan barely remembers anything over a strong, pain filled memory.Alfred remembers everything.





	Apocalypse on Pointe

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the intro, to remind myself of how the plot/mechanisms of it will be like. Thanks for reading if you actually do!

Hunger.   
That's all he could feel. Hunger.   
Ivan had felt this way for what felt like forever, but he knew it'd only been five years.   
Five years of wandering aimlessly in search of something with a heartbeat to give him a few seconds of feeling full.   
How did he know it had been five years? Well, the posters up on the sides of the buildings said that the Vaccine to prevent what he was would stop working after five years. The Virus would simply outgrow the strength by then.   
He knew it had been five years because he was the least hungry he'd been since he got infected. The people who had been wealthy enough or sneaky enough to get their hands on the Vaccine were emerging from the Sanctuary. They were looking for something, usually specific plants or vials of liquid from pharmacies throughout the city.   
But Ivan didn't want to think about that. Thinking was like breathing now; a task that required you to be conscious of what you were doing for it to happen. And Ivan had never been a great multi-tasker. He didn't want to know why the humans needed what they did, he just wanted to find it so he could find them.  
Even if he didn't get to eat, he could see unchaotic minds working together. The only thing he and his dead comrades could do together was follow a scent. After that, none of them wanted to be around the others. Sharing meant more hunger.   
Currently, the ash-haired Russian immigrant was heading for the far side of the city. He knew there had to be drug stores on the other side of Chattanooga that the humans hadn't gotten to yet. That's where he could wait.   
\------/\\-|-/\\------  
Fear.   
That's what he'd lived with for five years.   
That's what had driven him to survive in this hellscape.   
Five years of fear. Half a decade. One twentieth of a century.   
That last one made it seem less intense in Alfred's mind, and he regretted thinking it. He began to chastise himself for ruining his own daydream, when the car jerked to a stop. Alfred almost yelled at the driver, a cousin from Mexico who'd come to live with them when his parents became infected. The guy in the backseat beat him to it.   
"Hey, what the hell Richard? Can't a guy nap around here in peace?" Sadik protested.   
"Call me Richard again and I break your nose. Which way from here?" Ricardo looked at Alfred expectantly, since he had the map.   
Alfred simply pointed, too unfocused to conjure up words. After they continued on, Alfred resumed his daydream.   
He thought of his sisters, and his fathers.   
Madeline and Michelle were Francis's from a former marriage. He had been adopted by Arthur two years before the others had met, when the British rocker had thought he would never get married. He hadn't seen his sisters in a week; they had gone south with a different scouting party to Atlanta. When he came back from Chattanooga, they'd be back at camp.   
They drove along slowly; cars still strewn about along the interstate. At this rate it would be nearly 2 hours before they would get to the other side of the ruinous city.


End file.
